I Leave Tomorrow
by Mornen
Summary: One idea I had on how Maedhros and Fingon bid each other farewell after Feanor had threatened to kill Fingolfin. Told from Maedhros's point of view.


He had not seen me when I climbed in through his window, a feat that I had accomplished many times before. His window had been designed for such things, it seemed, designed to let in the unwanted wretch that now stood on his polished floor, watching him; he did not see me. He had not seen me when I had slipped in, near to tears, my hair unkempt and my clothing torn, the light of Laurelin shining full behind me, casting a long shadow over him; he had not seen it, he had not turned.

He had not heard my quiet footfalls; the muffled footfalls of my unshod feet as I took three steps towards him, each step slow and deliberate, each step hesitant and scared. A soft pat, and then another, and yet another, and then they were still, my unmoving feet made not another sound; he had not heard. He had not heard my heart, as it beat madly in my chest, breaking and failing, longing and empty; he had not heard it cry. He had not heard me whisper his name, my voice faltering as I spoke it. 'Findekáno,' I had said, my voice breaking, yet still so proud; I would not plead with him, and he would not hear.

He had not known me; he did not want to know me, the child of Fëanáro, the son of a mad man. He sat so proud, his head so high, his heart so closed, our love forgotten. I stood alone, bearing his scorn, enduring his silence. Perhaps I had once been his friend, perhaps he had thought of me as a brother, but that time was gone, and I had no right to ask for it. My father had severed it, and we would now pay the price; I would not beg him, and he would not forgive me. We had done no wrong, and now we would pay for it.

'I leave tomorrow,' I said turning swiftly away from him.

'Maitimo.'

The word commanded me to stop; it was firm and stern, as cold as the deep sea. I halted, my back to him, my hands held in tight fists. He would speak now, and I did not want to hear him. I did not know why I had come to him, or what I had expected, but, now that the time came for me to hear him, I fought against it. I was not at fault, why must he hate me?

'Come here.'

The words drew me back, forced me to cross the clean floor of cold, grey stone and come to stand beside him, and to, in quiet subjection, wait for him to pronounce his doom.

He turned to me, his face as set as stone, cold and unmovable, his lips pressed in an unreadable line, his eyes stern and unfathomable.

I stood firm, knowing that I would not be taken, but I would not quiver at his words, I would not cry when he rejected me. I had no need for him.

'I do not blame you, my friend.'

He bowed his head after he spoke, his dark hair falling over his pale face, hiding his thoughts from me.

I made no answer; I could think of nothing to say. The words I had remembered, the ones of a bitter pride that I was prepared to cling to, did not fit his.

He looked at me again, his grey eyes searching my face, trying to understand.

'A grief has fallen between your father and mine, but why should it divide us?'

I looked into his eyes shining with hope from underneath his long, wet lashes.

'I am to take exile,' I told him.

He bowed his head again, playing uncertainly with his fingers.

'And where will you go?' he asked.

'I know not,' I said. 'My father will lead us.'

He held his hand out to me, but I did not take it. He closed his fist upon the empty air and turned away.

'I would not have you leave.'

'And yet I shall.'

'I cannot stop you.'

'Nay, you cannot.'

He said nothing in answer, his thoughts running in perfect silence, his lips pressed together unmoving.

I watched him long, but he spoke not, and I found no words to say. The light of Laurelin faded slowly as I stood, my burning heart growing cold in his silence.

'Maitimo,' he said, when the room had grown dark, and we both had been lost in the shadows. 'You will then go?'

'Yes.'

He stood.

'Then I shall miss you.'

The words were quiet and resolute; he spoke them with certainty and grace.

I think that I may have smiled, but I am not certain, and it now matters little.

'Farewell, my cousin,' he said.

'Farewell,' I answered and departed from him, falling away from him, into the shadows.


End file.
